The Fall of Prussia
by Hazel-Beka
Summary: Roderich visits Gilbert the day before Prussia is officially dissolved to try and ease Gilbert's fears about whether he'll still be there in the morning. Sort of Prussia/Austria. Oneshot


A/N - Could you guys do me a favour and tell me if they seem IC or not here? Also, since the other Prussia/Austria stuff I've written has been humour, could you let me know if I do angst well or if I need to improve? It would be a great help to have some feedback! And if you're thinking that you're going to fave this, PLEASE leave me a review, because I get so many people faving my stuff without commenting on it, and it's great to know that you enjoyed it enough to fave it, but it would be awesome if you could just leave me a review as well. Thanks!

_A brief history lesson - In Law #46 of 20 May 1947 the Allied Control Council formally proclaimed the dissolution of Prussia. The Allied Control council, or Four Powers, was made up of the United Kingdom, the USA, Russia and France. These powers each governed over a part of Germany at this time because of its collapse after WW2_

Roderich was sitting at the piano when the call came. His fingers were poised over the keys, lightly touching the painted wood, but he wasn't playing. He had tried, at first, but for the first time in a long while, he had failed. There had been wrong notes and wrong chords and eventually he had allowed himself to be defeated by his own hands, usually so gifted, but today unusable. Today his hands were shaking and clammy. Even now, he could feel his fingers trembling against the keys of his most beloved instrument.

As the first ring of the phone sounded through the silence caused by his failure, Roderich closed his eyes and drew in a long, shaky breath. At the second ring, his fingers twitched more violently and his features took on a pained expression. He managed to similarly ignore the third, but as the fourth ring started, he seemed to lose some internal battle and slammed his hands down on the piano, a loud, jarring mismatched medley of notes drowning out the phone. Roderich practically flung himself across the room to grab at the handset as if at a lifeline. His face was pale as he pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?" Even his voice didn't sound right. It was hoarse, and Roderich cleared his throat in an attempt to at least make him sound calm and collected.

"Roderich," Ludwig's familiar voice said as way of a greeting. He sounded tired and there was a lifeless quality to his voice as if he was exhausted of expressing emotion and had given up trying. "I need you to come over and talk to Gilbert. He hasn't said a word to anyone else for three days now."

Roderich shook his head, vaguely, too distracted by his own thoughts to realise that Ludwig couldn't see him. "I would if I could, but I'm afraid I can't make it," he said mechanically, not bothering, or perhaps not able, to invent a believable excuse. What would be the point? Ludwig knew that he was lying.

"I thought that you might say that," the German replied. There was no blame or anger in his tone, but there was _something_ and Roderich didn't want to think too deeply about what it was in case he managed to identify it. "I wouldn't ask, but it's the last-" his voice caught and he had to wait a moment before trying again. "It's the last day before Prussia is officially dissolved. I've tried talking to him and so have some of the others, but he just won't respond. Even _Arthur_ came round." He spat out the English nation's name with disgust and maybe even hatred. The emotion seemed even more violent after the flat tones he had been using before. Roderich channelled some of the anger himself, amidst his shock.

"What the fuck could _he_ have to say? He's part of the reason that Prussia's only going to exist in the history books from now on!" Roderich gripped the phone tight enough that his knuckles turned white, surprised at how forceful his words had been, but beyond caring how he sounded. The fact that he had used such crude, taboo language was a mark of how deeply disturbed he was by the whole situation.

"I have no idea what he wanted. I didn't listen; if I'd stayed in the same room as him for too long, I think I would have resorted to violence." Ludwig took a deep breath and forcibly swallowed his contempt. "Somebody has to get through to Gilbert. He won't show it, but he's scared of what's going to happen to him when he no longer serves a purpose."

"I don't want to see him." It came out as a whisper, although Roderich hadn't meant it to be. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes tightly to block out the world that had become so wrong since the dawn of the twentieth century.

"Why not?" Ludwig sounded almost desperate now, frustration getting the better of him. "Is your pride really that important to you? You're always determined not to show that you feel anything for him except dislike, but I know that you don't want him to be gone forever! Can't you just get over your stupid stubbornness for a _minute_ and-"

"I don't want to see him," Roderich interrupted loudly, "because it would feel too much like saying goodbye. You're wrong, Ludwig. He's not going to leave. He might get depressed about not having Prussia anymore, but he won't _go_ anywhere!" There was silence for a moment after this outburst, Roderich clinging to the phone with both hands hard enough for the plastic to start leaving an indent in his skin.

"Why don't you tell that to Gilbert?" Ludwig finally suggested. "God knows, he needs to hear someone say it. Even if you're wrong and I wake up tomorrow to find that I no longer have a brother, at least I'll know that he was comforted in his final hours by your conviction."

"You're _always_ going to have a brother," Roderich said through gritted teeth. "You're an idiot if you think otherwise."

"So come round and give him some hope." Ludwig was pleading now, and something inside Roderich gave a guilty lurch at hearing the usually stoic nation reduced to this. "Please, Roderich. Please." He seemed to have run out of words and was left with only one which he could merely repeat again and again in the hope that maybe if he said it enough it would compensate for all the words he couldn't find. The effect was a wave of guilt that hit Roderich so hard he thought he might drown in it.

"OK," he mumbled, as if agreeing to his own death. "I'll come over now and see him. But if he's been ignoring you then I doubt he'll talk to me." He felt wretched as Ludwig thanked him with so much relief and gratitude in his voice. Hanging up the phone, he let himself lean against the wall for a minute longer, reaching for all the inner strength he could muster. He wasn't ready for this; to see another once great nation fall and collapse into nothing more than dust and memories. On the phone he had sounded utterly convinced that Gilbert wouldn't go to wherever it was that fallen empires and forgotten countries ended up, but in reality there were cracks in his conviction.

It wasn't as though the world would be too much of a worse-off place without Gilbert, Roderich mused as he travelled towards Germany. Maybe he could even convince himself that everyone would be better off without him, if he tried hard enough. But things would be _different_. After all the times that Gilbert had shown up at his house unannounced demanding food and beer and entertainment, each time the front door opened unexpectedly in a Gilbert-less world, Roderich would forget he knew, just for a moment, that he was never again going to hear that obnoxious laugh or see that familiar glint in a pair of crimson eyes. Each time he would have to remember, and even if Gilbert was the most annoying idiot to ever walk the Earth (which he most certainly was), he deserved more than to be reduced to a memento mori, a mere reminder that nothing is eternal. Gilbert was for too _alive_ to be a symbol of death.

The main reason for Roderich's concern (and for his still trembling hands, although he was trying to ignore the gentle spasms that shook them) was that he had become _used_ to Gilbert being around. It wasn't that he would miss him if he left, of course not, but it was impossible to imagine a world without him. Perhaps, he thought somewhere deep down in a place he usually ignored, perhaps he didn't _want_ to imagine it. It wasn't right. Gilbert played such an important part in his life because he was always _there_, even if Roderich didn't want him there all the time and sometimes forcibly kicked him out. But he always came back. He _always_ came back.

Ludwig opened the front door to his house before Roderich was even halfway up the long, gravel driveway. He ushered Roderich inside quickly, as if afraid that the Austrian might change his mind and try to escape. Without so much as a hello, he led Roderich up the stairs, keeping a tight hold on the other nation's arm all the way. They stopped on the landing, a few feet from Gilbert's bedroom. The door was closed and there was no sound from within. Ludwig pulled him closer, as if to draw comfort from the presence of another body.

"Please help him," he murmured, before letting his grasp on Roderich's arm break free, and he squeezed the Austrian's shoulder lightly before turning and descending to the lower floor of the house again, leaving Roderich alone to his task.

The door barely made a sound as he pushed it open, and Roderich made sure to close it behind him less carefully, so that the sound would alert Gilbert to his presence. The blond nation had his back facing Roderich and he didn't show the slightest sign that he had heard the door. He was standing in front of the window, staring out across the bleak landscape under the dull, grey sky. The whole room was dark and Roderich hesitated for a long moment with the door at his back, just observing Gilbert. He had never seen the other nation so _still_. It was unnatural, as if he was a statue carved out of flesh and bone.

"Your brother asked me to come," Roderich said suddenly, needing to break the silence, needing some sort of reaction to his presence. He got one when Gilbert turned slightly to look at him in surprise. Either he hadn't heard the door or he had assumed that it was Ludwig who had entered, Roderich supposed. For a moment, Gilbert looked as though he was going to say something, but then he let the expression drift from his features and turned back to the window. For some reason, this irritated Roderich.

"What, are you ignoring me now?" he asked, crossing the room to stand by Gilbert's side. There was no response. Gilbert didn't even glance at him. Roderich felt something twist inside him. He turned his attention to the view beyond the window pane. It wasn't just the sky that was grey, but also the landscape filled with the buildings of Berlin. The cityscape that was usually impressive was today depressing. Roderich turned back to face the room, leaning against the windowsill and wondering what to say next. It turned out that he didn't need to say anything, however, as Gilbert suddenly chose to break the silence.

"I didn't think you were going to come," he mumbled, almost too quietly to hear. Roderich stole a sideways glance at him, but Gilbert's eyes were still trained on the view, although Roderich wasn't sure that the other nation was seeing any of the grey world outside.

"I wasn't going to," he admitted. This whole situation was out of his league and he didn't know how to handle it. Trying to avoid the lost, bewildered feeling that was growing inside him, he reverted to the only way he knew how to communicate with Gilbert, clinging to the weak sense of normality that came with it. "I didn't change my mind for _your_ sake. This is just a favour to your brother." Was that the ghost of an amused smile on Gilbert's lips or was it just Roderich's imagination? "You're causing Ludwig a lot of trouble by sulking in here all day," he continued. "Although I suppose you'll be even more trouble once Prussia's gone because you'll have more free time to harass your brother and stalk me."

Gilbert turned his head sharply to meet Roderich's gaze. "I don't _stalk_ you," he protested, and he sounded almost normal. "We just happen to end up in the same places a lot by some amazing coincidence." He looked critically at Roderich for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had gone back to the quiet, un-Gilbert-like tones of before. "You're the first person to talk as though I'm not on my deathbed since they divided up my land and set a date for the dissolution. Do you think..." he trailed off before gathering enough courage to complete the question. "Do you think I'll still be here tomorrow?"

He was _scared_, Roderich realised with horror. Gilbert, who was most at home on the battlefield and who had seen death and slaughter of the most grotesque kind without flinching, was scared. The realisation felt like Roderich's whole world had given a sickening lurch and ground to a half, the force that turned it on its axis extinguished as the laws of physics spluttered and died and stopped working altogether. He felt sick and numb but he tried to at least act as though he was one hundred percent confident, even as the doubt pulsed through his veins with his blood.

"Of course you'll still be here, idiot," he replied, trying to sound casual. "The world will never be able to get rid of you, no matter how much it tries." He wanted to reach out and touch the other nation, to give him comfort, to tell him that it would be all right, but his limbs felt too heavy to lift and the words were stuck in his throat, waiting to choke him if he tried to voice them. So he stood stiffly, aching to push past his pride but at the same time utterly unable to break away from the role he had always played in response to Gilbert. Centuries of banter and disagreements between them had made it impossible for Roderich to act sincerely now. It would be too strange. Too emotional. Too embarrassing, although he felt ashamed to admit that one of the reasons for his pretence of apathy was that he was afraid that Gilbert would brush off any displays of sentimentality with a laugh and a mocking comment. It wasn't an excuse for not trying, but he made it one anyway.

"Arthur came over here earlier," Gilbert said, turning back to stare out of the window again. His words jolted Roderich out of his thoughts and he turned his body to face Gilbert, managing to move a tiny bit closer to the taller nation's side in the hope that maybe their closeness would be enough to reassure Gilbert even a little bit. At the mention of Arthur's name, he scowled.

"Ludwig told me," he remembered darkly.

"You shouldn't be angry with him," Gilbert chastised calmly, and Roderich was shocked to see that Gilbert was genuinely unconcerned that Arthur had been one of the nations to betray him by giving away Prussian land to other countries as if he had the _right_. "He's the only other person besides you who thinks that I'll still be here tomorrow," Gilbert continued, and Roderich looked at him in surprise before becoming angry again.

"He probably only said that to ease his own guilt," he said bitterly. "He'll be hoping that if he can fool himself into believing you'll be OK then his conscience won't eat him alive." Gilbert shook his head, firmly rejecting Roderich's opinion with the gesture.

"He told me that I'd have a choice," he murmured, raising a hand absentmindedly to touch the cold glass of the window pane. "He said that I could leave if I wanted to and go to the place where Rome and Germania and Ancient Egypt are, or I could stay here. Nobody's going to force me to leave. Beings like us...we can't _die_, not like humans do, so we always have the choice." He sounded as though he wasn't sure whether to believe what he was saying or not.

"How exactly does _Arthur_ know all this?" Roderich asked sceptically.

"I expect the fairies told him," Gilbert replied mildly. Roderich scoffed.

"You don't really believe in his imaginary friends, do you?" he asked. Gilbert frowned, deep in thought.

"Sometimes I dream about...things," he replied slowly. "Things from a long, long time ago." He shook his head as if to wake himself from a daydream and sighed. "I want to believe him," he said with sudden desperation in his voice that almost made Roderich wince. "I don't want to go anywhere else. I don't want my fate decided by anyone apart from me. And I don't want-"

He stopped abruptly and turned to meet Roderich's eyes, his intense gaze filled with more emotion than the brunette had thought possible to be contained in one look. Then Gilbert moved his hand from the window and Roderich felt it take hold of his own hand, gripping him tightly, sending a shock through his whole body from the unexpected action. Roderich numbly curled his fingers around Gilbert's, feeling so, so ashamed that he hadn't been the one to reach out when Gilbert clearly needed his support. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to speak, his traitorous tongue paralysed and refusing to let out the words that were building up in his mouth and causing a painful lump in his throat. He tried to put the sentiments of his unspoken words into his expression, but they were drowned in the floods of pain and hope and fear and uncertainty that emanated from Gilbert's eyes. All that Roderich could do was cling to the other's hand tightly enough so that not even the fall of Prussia could make him let go.

A soft pattering made them both turn to look out of the window, Roderich feeling dazed and light-headed as the eye contact was broken. Rain had finally started to fall from the swollen, grey clouds, and they watched silently as it steadily grew heavier until it seemed as though a river of the gods had burst its banks high up in the sky and even Heaven wasn't big enough to hold the resulting floodwater. Rivulets ran down the window, the sound of each heavy raindrop pounding against the roof of the house and the ground outside drowning out the silence just enough that Roderich convinced himself that it would be all right to speak because Gilbert probably wouldn't hear him anyway.

"I don't want you to leave me," he whispered, and the relief he felt made him feel weak, even as guilt throbbed with his pulse at how he couldn't speak louder, couldn't even glance towards Gilbert in case he caught a glimpse of those overwhelming emotions in his eyes. He suddenly noticed that his hands were shaking again, and he grasped Gilbert's fingers even tighter, terrified that the other nation would notice. But Gilbert just gave his hand a gentle squeeze in return, stroking his thumb over the back of Roderich's hand lightly in a way that caused tears to well up threateningly in Roderich's eyes. He couldn't cry, he _wouldn't_ cry in front of Gilbert, even though it was so wrong that he was being comforted by the person he was too weak to comfort. He was so caught up in trying not to let the tears overflow that he almost missed Gilbert's reply to the words he had fought so hard to say.

"If I have the choice," the other nation murmured, "I'll never leave you."

They seemed to have used up all the words that had any real meaning, and anything else that they said would have been shallow and empty. So they stood in silence, hands clasped tightly together as if, Roderich thought, that would be enough to ensure that everything would be all right. Maybe it would be enough – it _had_ to be – because although they were joined at the hands, it felt as though there were a million miles between the rest of their bodies; miles that Roderich wanted desperately to cross, but couldn't. And so he stood helplessly at Gilbert's side, eyes staring at, but not seeing, the greyscale shades of the drenched city and knowing that it wasn't enough, he could never give enough. But this was all that he could give.

***

The next morning, the rain had followed him home to Austria, and Roderich woke to the sound of it tapping against his window. Turning over, he saw that the hands on his clock were proclaiming that the time was a quarter past nine. Usually Roderich would be up by now, but today he felt listless and lethargic, and the longer he slept, the longer he could ignore what was, to him, a monumental change in the geography of the world. With this logic in mind, he let himself drift back into the cycle of dreams and oblivion.

He woke up twice more during the next hour and a half, but each time he couldn't bring himself to even attempt to get out of bed. The outside world seemed less important, somehow. There was the burning question, of course, in not so much the back of his mind as the whole of his being, asking whether he'd have to continue stocking Gilbert's favourite brand of German beer in his fridge any longer. Even though he had been so confident yesterday when Ludwig had called, today he felt only a deep, cold fear that impaled him and kept him rooted to the bed.

Something was different, however, when he woke for the fourth time that morning at almost half past eleven. Roderich lay with his eyes shut, listening to the rain that still fell outside, trying to determine what had changed since the last time he had drifted into consciousness. There seemed to be a different atmosphere in the room, a calmer one, and even the bed didn't feel the same beneath him as it usually did. Gradually, he became aware of a soft, regular noise that he hadn't noticed before over the rhythm of the rain. The pieces clicked into place as he realised with a shock that he could hear breathing that wasn't his own, and he snapped his eyes open.

Gilbert lay next to him on the bed, curled on his side as Roderich was, facing him and sleeping deeply. His hair and clothes were wet from the rain, which was slowly soaking into the pillow and duvet. Roderich reached out hesitantly to gently touch one of the folds in the cloth of the sleeping nation's t-shirt, as if verifying that he wasn't a hallucination. The material was cool and damp and _real_.

Finally the tears came, flowing with the relief that filled Roderich's whole body, relief he had never dreamed that Gilbert's mere presence could make him feel. Silently, he sobbed into the pillow, careful not to disturb Gilbert, even now not wanting the Prussian – the only real Prussian left – to witness the emotion that he couldn't repress and pretend not to feel. Once again he wanted to be closer to Gilbert, to feel his heat, his pulse that still throbbed through his veins, but once more he couldn't bring himself to act on that desire, and so he lay so close but so, so far away from the other body on the bed, soaking his pillow with unseen and unheard tears.

Once the last tremors of emotion had left him, Roderich lay still, tracing Gilbert's relaxed, sleeping features with his gaze. Only when the tell-tale red in his eyes had faded and the tracks of his tears had gone did he sit up and watch as the movement woke Gilbert, telling him in a voice no less stable than normal that it was rude to crawl into other people's beds as they slept. And Gilbert grinned at him, all the fear from yesterday gone like a ghost, leaving no evidence that it had ever been there at all.

As they moved through the day, they fell back into their normal roles, as if waking from a dream and finding the whole world exactly as they had left it, untouched and unchanged. Although something _should_ have changed, Roderich thought, because something _had_ changed in a dully-lit room where two hands had clung to each other and needed each other in the same way that a drowning man needs to breathe. Gilbert knew it too. They could see it in each other's eyes. But it was too strange, too sudden, and they didn't know how to handle it or address it, so they left it to slowly suffocate in the space between them. The world turned, and time moved them steadily away from the edge of the chasm they hadn't managed to cross.

Sometime during mid-afternoon, as Gilbert spoke cheerfully about something or other, Roderich realised that the moment had passed and been lost forever when they could have found the words they had been searching for and worked up the courage to say them out loud. Maybe there would be times in the future when they would accidentally catch each other's eye and each would see an image of a rain-soaked Berlin, but then they would turn away and it would be gone. Roderich sipped from his patterned, china teacup and nodded idly to whatever Gilbert was saying. He mentally shook himself and scattered his thoughts into pieces, coming back to reality where the two nations were sitting together and putting up with each other as they usually did, almost close enough to touch, but so, so far apart.


End file.
